I was Drafted Into a War as the Only Human

It had been one month since the War Games announcement. That left five more until the festival began.

In that time, Lucy, Eri, Llarm, Gindu, and Fenric had trained relentlessly, polishing their skills and pushing the limits of teamwork.

But teamwork required the whole team.

And right now, they were missing one crucial piece.

Which is why Lucy began hunting for an ogre.

Not to fight—but to recruit.

His team’s greatest weakness wasn’t strategy or spirit. It was raw, brute force. Llarm brought agility and utility. Eri and Fenric hit fast and hard. Gindu served as the tank, but he lacked the sheer size to hold the line against the monsters they’d face.

And Lucy? He could do everything.

Except be enormous.

So here he was, wandering the ever-expanding halls of Seraphine’s palace. The deeper he went, the more surreal it became. The white marble floors shimmered like frozen starlight. Gold filigree laced the walls in intricate, winding patterns. Massive emeralds glowed softly from the columns, like the eyes of slumbering gods.

He didn’t know exactly where he was headed. But somehow, he knew it was the right direction.

The palace grew with each step.

As he walked, his thoughts drifted back to this morning’s training. Fenric had lost control again—bloodlust boiling over until he nearly tore Llarm apart. Only Gindu’s brute strength and Eri’s precision brought him down.

’Next time I see Tara, I’m yelling at her for not mentioning her brother’s a certified psychopath.’

Then, reflexively, he thought of Tara herself. That flaming temper. Those sharp, dangerous eyes.

"...Maybe it runs in the family," he muttered with a sigh.

Eventually, after what felt like hours in the labyrinth, he arrived.

A new archway loomed ahead, towering and regal, forged from golden metal that shimmered like molten sunlight. It rose into a perfect curve, easily over four hundred feet tall.

Beyond it stretched a different kind of palace.

The air changed—it was heavier, tinged with the musk of sweat, iron, and stone. The architecture still gleamed with white and gold, but now it had weight, like the bones of something ancient. Every footstep echoed like a hammer falling on an anvil.

The ceilings stretched so high they disappeared into shadow.

Monolithic doors lined either side of the hall, each enormous, ranging from thirty feet to nearly three hundred, depending on who called it home.

Lucy suddenly felt like a bug sneaking into a den of lions.

He swallowed and approached the smallest door on the right—if thirty feet could be called small. He raised his hand... and hesitated.

’Do ogres knock?’

Ridiculous question. Then again, so was half of what passed for etiquette in the divine realms.

He knocked.

Boom.

The sound echoed like a thunderclap in a canyon.

Then came the footsteps.

Thud. Thud. THUD.

Each step was like a boulder dropping from a cliff. Then the door swung open—so fast it nearly yanked the air from Lucy’s lungs.

And there it was—a massive, green leg.

Lucy craned his neck up and up until he locked eyes with the ogre towering over him. Mottled green skin, sharp yellow eyes, a nose like someone had smashed a rock against a wall and called it a face.

Lucy grinned.

"Erot! Just the massive green guy I was looking for!"

The ogre grunted and immediately began closing the door.

Lucy threw his shoulder into the frame, nearly slamming himself in the process.

"Wait, is that any way to treat a fellow warrior? Didn’t Seraphine say you had to help the captains with equipment?"

The door froze.

Lucy held his breath.

Then came the voice—low, rumbling, simmering with restrained fury.

"Go use other sword, Human."

Lucy blinked. "What other sword?"

The ogre’s brow twitched. "One from War. I offered sword then. You say no. Then use other sword anyway!"

Lucy stared—and then it clicked.

’Oh. He’s mad I used Ayas’ blade instead of asking him. He’s a proud blacksmith. Cheating on a blacksmith must be like cheating on a barber. You don’t even if they die.’

He raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, that one’s on me. You’re ten times the blacksmith Ayas ever was. I thought I didn’t need a sword, but I was an idiot. Come on—help me out here."

His tone softened. Genuine.

Erot stared in silence.

Then he grunted again—less a growl this time, more a tired sigh. The corner of his lip twitched.

"Fine. I help. But not for you. For Seraphine."

He stepped aside and gestured inward with a massive, moss-green arm.

Lucy gave a winning smile. "Thanks, big man."

Another grunt. About as enthusiastic as a landslide.

As Lucy stepped inside, his jaw dropped.

The room was split into two.

On the right is a spartan, oversized sleeping area—a bed carved from dark stone slabs and covered with stitched hides—and a crude basin carved straight into the wall. There are no decorations. It is pure function, just like Erot.

But the left side?

A smithing paradise.

Forges lined with obsidian bricks glowed with enchanted flame. Massive anvils sat atop rune-etched tables—racks of tools hung in perfect order. Piles of rare metals glimmered—some dull and heavy, others pulsing with magical light. The air was thick with the scent of molten iron, oil, and soot. But beneath it all was a comforting warmth, like a fire that belonged.

’He has a whole blacksmith fortress in his bedroom,’ Lucy thought, eyes sparkling.

Erot trudged toward the forge and pointed to a red X painted on the stone.

"Stand."

Lucy obeyed. No sooner had he stopped, a massive, rune-marked measuring tape was whipped out. Erot began sizing him—neck, arms, fingers, shoulders.

Lucy stood awkwardly until the ogre let out a deep, guttural chuckle.

"What’s so funny?" Lucy asked.

"Human small."

"I’m not small. I’ll have you know, I’m above average height for a human!"

Erot snorted and crouched lower, then pointed down.

"Down there."

Lucy followed his gaze. His face turned red.

"Okay, why are you measuring that, you absolute weirdo?!"

He jumped back, swatting the tape away. Erot didn’t even blink. Instead, he picked up a crystal orb and held it out.

"Pour mana."

Still red-faced, Lucy grumbled under his breath but obeyed. His white divine mana poured into the orb, which began to glow brighter and brighter, until it radiated like a miniature sun. Then Erot pulled it away.

"Finished. Sword ready in five months."

Lucy blinked. "Five? That’s when the Games start!"

"Yes."

"Cutting it close, don’t you think?"

Erot jabbed a thick finger toward the door. "Leave."

Lucy turned—but paused at the threshold.

’Wait... I didn’t even come here for a sword.’

He turned back. "Erot... what would you say to joining the best team in the War Games?"

The ogre didn’t even glance at him. His gaze remained fixed on a rack of glowing alloys behind the anvil.

"I like watch."

Flat. Dismissive.

Lucy sighed. ’Yeah, figured that was a long shot. It would’ve been sweet to have a general on the team.’

He started to leave, shoulders halfway slumped, when Erot’s voice rumbled behind him.

"I give details tomorrow."

Lucy froze, then turned and grinned.

"Did I ever tell you you’re my favorite ogre?"

No answer.

Erot was already focused on a strip of skymetal, examining it like it held the secrets of the universe.

Lucy didn’t care. He practically skipped out of the room, mood ten stories taller than when he’d entered.

He’d come for a teammate and walked out with a sword and a lead.